It. Wasn’t. My. Fault.

Somehow, these four words were becoming a leitmotif for me.

Lately, I’d said them so many times that I considered having them tattooed on my forehead. That way, they could just precede me into every situation where they’d later have relevance.

But this mess?

This was one for the record books. If Guinness had a category for “most consecutive Christmas holidays blown completely to smithereens,” I’d be their poster child.

But did I ever get my day in court? Did I ever get a chance to tell my side of the story? Was I ever regarded as innocent until proven guilty?

No. Not by the redheaded Lord Chancellor who presided like a thundercloud over every case of Crown v. Gillespie.

In fact, Clarissa is what they used to call a “hanging judge.” Which means that whenever I get hauled up before her to face charges for some new crime against nature, she just sighs and starts looking around for a sturdy tree limb.

This time was no exception.

It all started yesterday when Marty ducked his sweaty head into my cubicle at work, and told me he wasn’t feeling well. I wasn’t really surprised by that announcement. It was our last working day before Christmas, and we’d just had our annual office potluck luncheon where Marty had distinguished himself by ingesting his weight in Vienna sausages and cream-of-something casseroles. It didn’t help matters that those nimrods from the mailroom added so much rum to the bowl of eggnog that it took on the consistency of Kutzit varnish remover.

It tasted like it, too.

I managed to exercise more restraint that Marty did, however, and it seemed clear that he was on the verge of paying the price for his excesses.

“Yo, Diz? I think I’m gonna hurl.”

“Great.” I said. “You came in here to tell me that?”

“No. I came in here because I need a ride home.”

“Now?” I looked down at my desk. I was only halfway through fact-checking Grover Westlake’s diatribe about the proposed development of bike shares, a barge pool and a bridge connecting the east and west sides of the Inner Harbor. It was all part of his year-end “Best of Baltimore” column, and the draft was due back to editorial by three-thirty. “I can’t leave now, man. I gotta finish this article.”

“Dude.” Marty leaned against the doorway of my cubicle. His face had an odd pallor—vaguely like the color of that eggnog. “I’m not kidding…I think I’m gonna…”

He clapped a hand to his mouth.

Oh, Judas.

I grabbed my trashcan and thrust it toward him. Marty bent over and let it fly. It was pretty impressive. His retching went on and on. As disgusting as it was, I was surprised to notice that the partly ingested casseroles looked just about the same as they all had before the luncheon commenced.

I was relieved that, for once, I’d listened to Clarissa, and steered clear of any dish that appeared to contain mayonnaise as its primary ingredient.

Marty had finished his unpleasant errand and dropped down onto a chair.

“God.” He was wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Are you all right?”

He gave me a miserable look. “Do I look all right?”

He offered me the trashcan.

I recoiled. “No thanks. You can keep it.”

“I need to go home,” he repeated. “You can drive me and drop the van off later.”

“Right.” I nodded.

Marty was flying solo this week. His wife, Sheila, was in Michigan, helping her mother convalesce after undergoing emergency quintuple bypass surgery. How Marty was managing on his own to wrangle all three of their kids and that demon dog was beyond me.

I didn’t want to think too much about it.

“Let me call upstairs, and we’ll head out.”

He gave a weary-looking nod and tugged the trashcan closer. I took that as a bad sign.

Clarissa answered on the first ring.

“Wylie.”

“Hey, honey, it’s me.”

Marty started retching again. I turned away from him and lowered my voice. “I have a bit of a situation down here.”

“What is that ungodly noise?”

Clarissa always cut to the chase.

“It’s Marty.”

“Of course it is.” She sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s sick. I need to run him home.”

“Sick? What kind of sick?”

I looked over my shoulder at Marty.

Uh oh.

“The kind of sick that means if I don’t soon get him outta here, Wylie Magazine Group is gonna have to invest in a butt load of new trashcans.”

“Oh, god. Okay…go. But don’t forget that dad is dropping Maris off at five-thirty.”

Maris was her mother’s neurotic whippet. Clarissa’s parents were spending Christmas in Old Quebec this year, which meant we’d be stuck taking care of Maris for the holidays. My parents had already decamped for a weeklong, canasta-thon in Boca. Thank god my mother took her four cats along.

“I won’t forget,” I assured her. “But right now, I need your help with something.”

“What is it?” Her voice was tinged with suspicion.

“My Grover Westlake article is only about two-thirds finished.”

“When’s it due?”

I looked at my watch. “In about ninety minutes.”

She sighed. “Have Susan send it up. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, baby. See you later.”

“Diz?” Clarissa asked.

“Yeah?”

“Take care of Marty, but be sure to douse yourself liberally with Purel before you set foot inside our house.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I love you.”

I smiled. Even with the great distraction of Marty, heaving his guts out in the corner behind me, I couldn’t help feeling all the ways her simple declaration filled my world up with light.

“I love you, too.”

She hung up.

I turned around to face Marty. In the sixty seconds I’d been on the phone, he’d gone downhill pretty rapidly. He was sweating profusely and his pallor had gone from gray to green.

“Can you make it to the parking deck?” I asked.

He nodded. “But I’m gonna need another one of these.” He indicated the trashcan.

I grabbed my coat. “We’ll figure something out.”

By my calculation, Marty threw up at least four more times on the drive home. It was unclear to me whether or not these bouts were what you’d call productive—but it was an impressive performance just the same.

“Dude?” I asked after the second or third episode. “How many of those Vienna sausages did you eat?”

We were crawling along East Pratt Street. I had both of the front windows down. It was cold as hell and spitting snow, but without the fresh air blowing through the van’s passenger compartment, the stench would’ve been unbearable.

Marty groaned and hunched over the hefty bag we snagged from the canteen on our way out of the building.

Again?

I don’t want to suggest here that I didn’t care about Marty’s distress. I did. But I guess I had enough of a Puritan streak to believe that he was reaping the rewards of the loutish behavior he’d exhibited by scarfing up so much bad food at the luncheon.

And, selfishly, I was eager to get on with my own plans for the holiday. For the first time since we’d been together, Clarissa and I were planning a quiet, just us kind of Christmas. That meant no company, no family drama, no storm-of-the-century weather events, no marauding, psychotic dogs, no restraining orders, and, hopefully, no jail time for me.

Just us. Alone. We’d been planning it for most of the month.

Well…we’d have Maris. But we had a plan for that…we’d just double up on her doses of puppy Xanax to keep her in a chemically induced state of bliss.

Yep. We’d be at home together, enjoying our own quiet rendition of a sweeter, simpler, Currier and Ives kind of Christmas.

Except for the food.

We’d spent every evening for the last week, pouring over our dog-eared copy of Mastering The Art of French Cooking, looking for exactly the right dish to prepare on Christmas day. And, finally, we found it. Roast goose with a chestnut and prune stuffing, finished with a brandy-based sauce. To drink, we were recreating Paul Child’s signature reverse martini: French vermouth, Dubonet, orange essence and dark rum.

I could taste it all right now….

Marty retched into the trash bag. Again.

Okay. Maybe not now…but I knew it was all going to be extraordinary.

And the best part? We were planning our wedding. Our wedding.

We decided months ago that we would short circuit all the family hoopla and sneak off to City Hall tonight—Christmas Eve. Just the two of us. My brother, Father Frank, would be our only witness.

We’d hatched this plan because it became clear to us in short order that trying to orchestrate an event that could balance the Wylie family need for refinement with the Gillespie family need for crab claws and creamed corn would surely generate chaos on an apocalyptic scale. Although Clarissa did wryly suggest that it was too bad film director Robert Altman died. In her view, he would have made the perfect wedding planner.

So here I was, six hours and change away from the happiest night of my life, and my best friend was heaving his guts out in the middle of a traffic jam on St. Paul Street.

I inched the van windows up a notch.

It looked like the weather was taking a nosedive, too. What started out as “scattered flurries” was starting to resemble a bona fide snow squall.

I didn’t like the way these odds were starting to stack up. An unhappy thought occurred to me. I looked at Marty.

“Um…who’s taking care of the kids?”

He fixed me with a bleary-eyed gaze, but didn’t say anything.

“Marty? Dude…please. Tell me you have somebody lined up to help you.”

He shook his head.

I felt myself beginning to sweat. Dear god, this was not happening.

“Marty?”

“It should…only…be for…one night.”

One night? One night with Alvin, Simon, and Theodore?

I’d rather shove a hot poker into my eye.

Another horrifying prospect reared its ugly head.

“What about…her?” I asked.

“Who?” Marty looked confused. And green. Very, very green.

“That servant of Cerberus you call a dog.”

“Oh. Yeah,” he said. You’ll need to take Sadie, too.”

Make that hot pokers in both eyes.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Do I not look serious?” Marty bent over and retched into the bag, just for emphasis.

Oh, god. Clarissa was going to kill me….

Someone blew a car horn and I jumped about a foot into the air. Shit. I was so lost in contemplating my misfortunes that I didn’t notice traffic had started moving again. I hit the gas and the van lurched forward.

Bad idea. Marty all but did a face plant into his hefty bag.

Okay, I reasoned. It was only for one night. With luck this…thing…Marty had would be over with in about eight hours, and hell could go back into its box.

He was retching again.

Make that twelve hours….

“You have to make Teddy wear his retainer.”

“Right.”

“He won’t want to. He’ll try to hide it and say it’s lost.”

“Okay.”

“Last night, he hid it in Alvin’s Pull-Ups.”

“Pull-Ups. Check.”

“The dirty ones.”

I looked up from my notepad. Dirty ones?

“Gross.”

“Tell me about it. Alvin’s had the trots for three days. I had to soak the retainer in Clorox.”

“Good god.”

“Now Teddy really hates it.”

Marty was on his knees, hugging the commode in their master bathroom. I was taking notes.

“And he has to have ear drops twice a day.”

“Ear drops. Roger.”

“Twice a day, Diz. I’m not kidding. Otherwise he gets this smelly, yellow ear magma that oozes out and stains everything.”

I made the note. “Twice a day. Right.”

“And you have to take them to see Santa Claus tonight.”

I lowered the notepad. “Marty….”

He held up a hand. “I promised them, Diz. It’s their last chance before Christmas.”

I sighed and looked at my watch.

It was nearly two-thirty. I still had to pack up all their shit and then go and retrieve them from their after school program at Church of the Redeemer on Charles Street.

And I had to be home by five-thirty to meet Bernard Wiley for the Maris handoff.

“Can’t they just skip it this year?”

“Sure.” Marty groaned and rested his head on the porcelain rim. “They probably won’t scream for more than six hours…seven, tops. Of course, Alvin starts projectile vomiting when he cries for more than ten minutes.”

My shoulders drooped. “Santa Claus. Check.”

“Sadie has to be crated at night.”

Crated?

I looked at him. “What kind of crate?”

“You know.” He waved a hand. “A crate. With bars and shit.”

That sounded about right. If I had my way, Sadie would be spending Christmas in Leavenworth.

“I don’t have one of those. Can I take yours?”

“If you can get it apart.”

“How big is it?”

“About the size of a Buick.”

Okay, so that wasn’t happening. “I’ll figure something else out.”

“Yeah, well make sure you do. She eats upholstery.”

Marty was fading. I needed to get him up and into bed. “Come on. Let’s get you settled.”

I helped him stand up and guided him into the bedroom. He’d already shucked off most of his clothes as soon as we got inside the house. I helped him crawl beneath the covers.

“Do you have food?” I asked.

He moaned.

“Okay. Forget about food. Do you have juice? Gatorade?”

“I don’t want anything. I just want to die.”

“Right.” I pulled the covers up to his chin. “Your cell phone is right here on the nightstand. You call me if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded and closed his eyes.

“I’ll call Sheila for you.”

He grunted.

I was halfway out of the room when I heard him call out to me. I paused in the doorway.

“What did you say?”

“Presents,” he muttered.

I took a step back into the room. “What presents?”

“For the kids. They’re in the back of the van, beneath two, forty-pound bags of cedar chips.”

“You mean their Christmas presents?”

He nodded. “They’re not wrapped….”

I opened my mouth to protest, but it was useless. He had already dropped off to sleep.

I did the best I could trying to collect everything I thought we’d need to manage the kids for a night. I just grabbed clothes, jammies, and stuffed animals and crammed them all into a couple of pillowcases. Fortunately, toothbrushes, medicines, and Teddy’s retainer were all on a shelf in their bathroom. And Marty was right…that thing did smell like Clorox.

I also grabbed a big, open box of Pull-Ups.

As soon as I started down the stairs, I heard a high-pitched wailing sound that was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Sadie. The Siberian Vortex.

Let the games begin.

I still don’t know how I managed to get all three kids strapped into their car seats after I picked them up at day care.

Who designs those contraptions, anyway? They’re like straight jackets in Day-Glo colors.

Sadie was riding shotgun up front. I had to tie her into the passenger seat with bungee cords so she wouldn’t make a break for it when I got out to get the kids.

“Where’s daddy?” Simon asked.

Alvin and Theodore seemed too preoccupied with trying to figure out why Sadie was strapped into the front seat to notice that I was the one picking them up.

I lifted Simon into the van.

“He’s sick today, and he asked me to come and pick you guys up.”

“Why is Sadie in the front seat?” Alvin asked. “I have to pee,” he added, before I could reply.

“You have to pee?” I looked back at the church. “Didn’t you go inside?”

He nodded. “But Brian Plotnik pushed me outta the way and I didn’t get to finish it.”

Theodore had already climbed into the van by himself. He strapped himself into his car seat so fast his little hands were a blur.

“Brian Plotnik hates you,” he said to his brother. “I hate you, too.”

Alvin started to cry. He was holding his crotch with both hands.

Great. Now what was I supposed to do?

I looked around for someone to ask for help. People were fleeing the scene like inmates in the aftermath of a prison break. Nobody would even make eye contact with me.

“Okay, guys. I’m going to lock the doors on the van while I take Alvin back inside to use the bathroom. You have to promise me that you won’t open the doors for anyone until I get back. Okay?”

They both nodded.

“You have to promise…cross your hearts.”

They looked at each other.

“Well?” I asked.

“We don’t know what that means,” Simon said.

I sighed. “It means that if you promise not to open the doors, no matter what, I’ll take you to Dairy Queen on the way home.”

Their eyes lit up.

“We promise!” they cried in unison.

“Okay.” I slid the side door closed and hit the lock button on the key fob.

I looked down at Alvin, who was now crouching by the curb.

Uh oh.

A wet stain was making determined progress down the inside of his pant leg. A small lake spread out beneath his Spider Man sneakers. Steam rose up around his little feet like an acrid cloud.

“Dude….”

“I had to go,” he cried. “I told you.”

I sighed. At least I had some clean clothes with me. He could change once I got him inside, and I could wash the soiled stuff when I got them home.

“It’s okay,” I said to Alvin. “I’m not mad at you. I have some dry clothes for you in the van.”

I hit the door unlock button on the key fob. Nothing happened. I hit it again. Zilch.

Great.

“Hey, guys?” I tapped on the side window. “Wanna open the door?”

They ignored me.

I tapped again—louder this time.

“Simon? Teddy? Open the door, please.”

They continued to ignore me. I did notice, however, that Sadie was staring at me with her clear, blue eyes. “Good luck with this one,” her gaze seemed to say.

I slapped the side panel with the flat of my hand. “Boys? This isn’t funny. I know you hear me. Open the door.”

Nothing.

Alvin started to cry again.

Judas.

“Simon and Theodore? I’m not kidding. Open this door right now.”

Silence.

Enlightenment dawned. I decided to try another approach.

“Okay, boys. I’m very proud of you both. You passed the test. Now open the door, and I’ll let you order whatever you want at Dairy Queen.”

The door locks shot up with a resounding thunk.

I was proud of my ingenuity. Even Sadie looked impressed. 

“Come on, Alvin.” I rolled open the door and lifted him into the van. “Let’s get you into some dry pants.”

“I want a Peanut Buster Parfait,” Simon said.

“I want a Dilly Bar,” Teddy added.

“Can Sadie have a puppy cup?” Simon asked.

I was trying to find a pair of pants that would fit Alvin. His shoes were soaked, too—and smelly.

“What’s a puppy cup?” I asked.

Sadie chose this moment to begin singing the songs of her people. It wasn’t exactly howling. It was more like…yodeling. Loud yodeling. Loud, endless yodeling.

“What’s the matter with her?” I shouted above the din.

Simon yelled back. “She wants a puppy cup.”

Right.Of course she does.

I had forty-five minutes to roar through the drive-in at Dairy Queen and get home in time to meet Bernard and Maris. I wondered if Dairy Queen had a dirty, double Goose martini on the drive-through menu?

I gave up on finding Alvin a pair of pants that would fit. I pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms.

“Here, buddy. Let’s put these on.”

“Those aren’t mine,” he complained. “They’re Teddy’s.”

“Gross!” Teddy yelled. “Don’t let him pee on my pajamas.”

“He’s not going to pee on anybody’s pajamas.” I looked at Alvin. “Are you?”

He took a minute to think about it.

“Dude?” I asked again.

He shook his head. Thank god. I got the dry pants on him and strapped him into his car seat. Sadie was still yodeling at ear-splitting decibel levels when I climbed behind the wheel.

“How do we get her to stop?” I shouted at the boys.

“Mommy usually just turns the radio up really loud,” Simon said.

Okay. That might work. I started the van and turned on the radio. Polka music came blasting out of the speakers. It sounded like a medley from The Best of Myron Florin.

Miraculously, Sadie shut up. Immediately. Then she resumed looking placidly out the passenger window.

Whatever. I shook my head and pulled the van out into traffic.

Clarissa wasn’t buying it.

“Explain to me again why we have a house full of screaming children?” She plucked a furry, gray and white tumbleweed up off the hardwood floor. “And dog hair?”

“The dog hair is not my fault.” I felt confident enough to try and acquit myself of that offense.

Sadie decided that this was a perfect moment to bolt across the room at a full lope. She slid to halt just inches short of the Christmas tree, where Maris was reposing on a fluffy, red pillow. I noticed that she was carrying something in her mouth, but I was too preoccupied with mounting my defense to pay much attention to it.

“As you can see,” I continued. “Not all of the dog hair is my fault.”

Clarissa dropped her hand. “Nice try.”

“Come on, Clar. What was I supposed to do? Call the National Guard? He’s really sick.”

She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

I put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “It’s only for one night.”

She slowly shook her head.

I kissed her hair.

I honestly thought we were home free until Teddy decided to create a makeshift trap set out of our pots and pans. He was no Art Blakey, but to be fair, he was doing a credible job keeping up with the Retro Cool Bossa Nova Christmas CD I had playing in the background.

Clarissa looked toward the kitchen, then back at me. “That,” she pointed a finger toward Teddy and his stainless steel skins, “I can’t even talk about. But explain to me why we’re still listening to this awful music.”

I was offended. “It’s Vinnie Zummo.”

“I know who it is.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she explained. “Let’s just say that any traces of nuance or quirky appeal it had for me evaporated after the first five-hundred times you played it.”

“They like it.” I gestured toward the dogs. They were curled up together on the big red pillow, happily munching away on something.

I took a closer look.

Uh oh.

“Excuse me.”

I disengaged myself and walked over to retrieve what was left of the whole pork tenderloin I had taken out of the fridge when we got home.

There wasn’t much.

I held up the soggy, plastic wrapper.

“I guess we’re eating out?”

“Whatis that?” Clarissa had a horrified expression on her face.

“It was a pork tenderloin. It was going to be our dinner.”

“You left meat out on the counter?” Clarissa was incredulous.

“No. It was on top of the fridge.” I looked at Sadie, who was gazing back at me with her pale eyes. “How did I know this dog was part Flying Wallenda?”

“Diz….” Clarissa started to say something but thought better of it. It was clear that another thought had occurred to her. “Aren’t there supposed to be three of them?” She looked around the living room.

“Three of what?”

She rolled her eyes. “Children. Three children.”

“Yeah….”

“So where are the other two?”

Shit.

“Um.” I raised my eyes. “Upstairs?”

Clarissa took off her coat and calmly draped it over the back of the sofa. “Why don’t you go and check? I’ll stay here and guard the perimeter.”

“Right.”

I took the stairs two at a time.

Sure enough, Alvin and Simon were in our room playing. Sort of.

Alvin had pulled every pair of Clarissa’s shoes out of the closet and appeared to be trying them all out. Right now, he was striding back and forth in a pair of sling-back Jimmy Choo’s.

Oddly, I thought they had a slenderizing effect on him.

Simon was stretched out on our bed with what was left of his Peanut Buster Parfait, watching TV. I was impressed that he figured out how to navigate his way through all five of the remotes it took just to turn the damn thing on.

He was watching BBC World News.

I tried to ignore the chocolate stains on the bolster.

“Come on, guys.” I clapped my hands together. “It’s time to go see Santa.”

That got their attention. Alvin made a dash for the door, which was pretty impressive considering his footwear. I caught him by the back of his sweatshirt as he flew past me.

“Hold up there, Hoss. Let’s change our shoes.”

“He’s a pervert,” Simon chimed in from the bed.

“Hey.” I held up a finger. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. Lots of people like fancy shoes.”

Simon was now flipping channels. He stopped on the Bloomberg channel. Charlie Rose was interviewing Anthony Bourdain.

“He’s wearing a pair of your underwear, too,” he added.

“My…” I looked toward my dresser. Several of the drawers were standing open and clothes were strewn across the carpet.

I looked down at Alvin. He gazed back at me with his wide, dark eyes.

“I hope you picked the boxer shorts. Those briefs tend to creep up on you after a while.”

He nodded.

“Come on. Let’s get your shoes.

Santa’s Crystal Snow Palace was unfortunately situated smack dab in the middle of Towson Town Center mall. It was a twenty-five minute drive under the best circumstances, but tonight wasn’t remotely like the best circumstances. It was the night before Christmas, and two-thirds of the population of Baltimore was out cramming all of the highways and byways in last-minute shopping frenzies. The aggregate lack of enthusiasm for these endeavors was evident in the general absence of driving courtesies.

People were cranky, in a hurry, and eager to be anyplace but in their cars stuck in holiday traffic.

The boys were all strapped securely into their car seats. Clarissa seemed to have greater facility navigating the mechanics of those than I did. In retrospect, that shouldn’t really have surprised me. I recalled watching her truss a goose once. It was hypnotic—and it was the only reason I consented to try another one for this year’s Christmas dinner. She did it so quickly and easily that I had to wonder about where she acquired such a skill. It sure didn’t seem like anything she’d have picked up at Princeton. But I reasoned that since she’d always had an uncanny ability to tie my ass up in knots, this probably was just the logical extension of a natural talent.

The biggest hurdle we had to navigate in preparation for tonight’s great, unplanned Santa pilgrimage—after we got everyone to pee…twice…was what to do with the dogs.

The dogs.

Not since “Ted Cruz” had any pair of words filled me with so much dread, and the promise of certain disaster.

We went back and forth about what to do with them while we were out of the house. Clarissa seemed content to lock them up on the back porch. Maris had arrived with her customary bevy of cashmere winter coats, so she’d be fine in the crisp night air for a couple of hours. Sadie, on the other hand, had fur that was thick enough to attract hunters and trappers from the Yukon.

Still, I worried about the wisdom of leaving the Harry Houdini of dogs alone in a largely unsecured enclosure.

Where was razor wire when you needed it?

Salvation arrived in the form of Christa Schröder, my German neighbor. Her son, Karl, was arriving tomorrow to take her back to North Carolina to spend the rest of the holiday with him, his wife Maisy, and their four children. Christa had been baking all day to prepare for the trip. She appeared at our door just as we had about decided that our safest option was to take the dogs along with us. She was bearing a fresh loaf of Stollen. She thrust the hot, sweet bread into my hands and bent down to coo at the dogs, who were dancing around her feet like puppies.

“My precious beauties.” She wrapped them both up in her large arms. “What bundles of joy are.”

Clarissa and I exchanged glances.

Christa was now softly singing to the dogs in German.

“Um. Christa?” I asked.

She looked up at me with her sky blue eyes. Incredibly, the dogs were already half asleep.

“Ya?” she asked.

I gestured toward the boys, who were watching the spectacle with as much amazement as the two of us.

“Marty is sick and we have his kids. We’re just heading out to take them to see Santa Claus. Would you mind watching the dogs for us? It should only be for a couple of hours.”

“Sure.” She waved a hand toward the wall that separated our row houses. “I can feed them some schnitzel.” She dropped her gaze back to the dogs. “You would like that, wouldn’t you, my pretties?”

Problem solved. If we played our cards right, maybe Christa would offer to keep them overnight, too. It was Christmastime, after all. Miracles were to be expected.

We’d finally reached the turnoff for Towson Town Center. Clarissa gasped when she got a look at the parking lot.

“This looks worse than Epcot Center on the fourth of July.”

I tried to put a positive spin on it. “It’s not that bad. I bet we find something close to the entrance.”

Fat chance. There were long lines of cars trolling bumper-to-bumper in a hunt for any sliver of car-sized space. We crawled around for about ten minutes. The snow was still coming down, and the big, fat flakes swirled around in the beams from the headlights. It was like watching an epic pillow fight at the North Pole.

“I think we should give this up.”

I glanced over at Clarissa. “We can’t. We have to take the kids to see Santa.”

“Not that.” She met my eyes. “This. We’re never going to find a space in here.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“Get out of this maze and head over to Goucher College. We can park in one of their lots.”

“Won’t we get towed?”

“The day before Christmas? I doubt it.”

I sighed. “Even if I can succeed in getting us out of here before Epiphany—which right now looks extremely unlikely—how on earth will going over there help us? We can’t walk that far with the kids.”

Clarissa held up her cell phone.

“We won’t be walking. I’ll get us an Uber.”

An Uber?

“My god. You’re brilliant.”

She smiled at me.

“And gorgeous. Have I told you that lately?”

“Gross.”

I looked in the rearview mirror. Simon was staring back at us.

“You guys should get a room,” he added.

“Hey, wise guy.” I wagged a finger at him. “We have a room. And if memory serves, you were pretty comfortable in there just about an hour ago. So mind your P’s and Q’s.”

“What-ever.” He looked down at his electronic Sudoku game.

“I’m hungry.” Teddy kicked the back of my seat.

“I know, dude. So am I. We’ll stop for some dinner after we see Santa.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Clarissa muttered.

“What do you mean?” I was piloting the van down one of the long avenues that led to the Goucher campus.

“Did you see the lines of people outside all those restaurants?”

“I have to pee.” Alvin decided to join the conversation.

Clarissa swiveled around on her seat and glared at him. “Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.”

“Dude,” Simon chimed in. “If I were you, I’d hold it.”

“Cross your legs,” Teddy added.

I turned into the visitor lot. “Where should we park?”

Clarissa pointed at a white vehicle parked beneath a streetlight. It seemed to blend into the snow flying around it. “How about right beside that?”

“The minivan?”

She nodded. “It’s our Uber.”

“You got us a minivan?”

“Of course. Kids. Car seats.” She held up her cell phone. “It’s called UberFAMILY.”

I was amazed. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“They did a feature about this last week on Bloomberg,” Simon volunteered. “I predict it will go public before the end of the second quarter. You heard it here first.”

I looked at Clarissa and jerked a thumb toward the back seat. “Is this kid really Marty’s?”

“It does beg the question,” she agreed.

“Okay.” I put the van in park. “Let’s offload and get this show on the road.”

Within ten minutes, we were all crammed inside our Uber, and navigating our way back to Towson Town Center mall. The driver dropped us off at the entrance closest to Santa’s Crystal Snow Palace. I think he took pity on us. It was pretty clear that we were completely out of our league with this errand.

“You folks don’t really have kids, do you?” he asked, after watching us struggle to get all three of the boys back out of his van.

“What tipped you off?” I was sucking on the tip of the thumb I had nearly pinched off while trying to unsnap Alvin’s seatbelt.

“Call it a hunch,” he said. He looked at Clarissa. “Look. We’re really not supposed to do this, but how about you just give me a call on my cell when you’re ready to head back to your car?” He handed her a slip of paper.

Clarissa took it from him. “Thank you, but how do you know you’ll be available when we’re through?”

“You’re taking them to see Santa, right?”

She nodded.

“At seven o’clock on Christmas Eve?”

She sighed. “Ridiculous, right?”

“More like suicidal.” He looked at his watch. “I predict you’ll be out of there in about four hours.”

Four hours? Okay, so I’d been in denial that our plans for a quiet wedding had already been trampled underfoot by that steamroller some people call fate. But this information brought the unhappy truth crashing down on me like a Steinway falling from the top of the Transamerica Tower. And to add insult to devastating injury, I’d now be spending four hours in a mall—on Christmas Eve. I knew myself. I’d never last four hours in a mall. The last time I had to go shopping in one I nearly bought an Uzi at Toys R Us and went on a rampage to bust myself out.

“Come on.” Clarissa yanked the sleeve of my jacket. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The five of us linked hands and made our serpentine way into the mall. The interior was ablaze with light. Above the throngs of people I could see scores of giant, red candy canes and Styrofoam snow flakes the size of manhole covers. The cloying scent of cinnamon was overwhelming. Christmas music was blasting over hidden loudspeakers. At least, I think it was Christmas music. It was kind of hard to tell with all the ambient screaming going on.

I began to feel woozy.

“Clar?” I began.

She ignored me. “Over there.” She pointed at something.

I looked around. “What?”

“Between Cinnabon and The Sunglass Hut,” she clarified. “The men’s restroom.”

Alvin was insistently tugging at my hand. “I have to pee!”

I looked at Clarissa. “The men’s restroom?”

“You can pull it off.” She tossed her mane of red hair. “Channel your inner Rachel Maddow. We’ll wait for you by the Sunglass Hut.” She looked down at Simon and Teddy. “Won’t we guys?”

They began to protest.

She sweetened the deal. “I’ll buy you some Ray-Bans.”

Simon shoved Teddy out of the way. “Move it lard-ass.”

They took off toward the kiosk.

I sighed and embraced my fate. After all, how bad could it be?

I was about to find out.

Alvin and I stood in a long line that stretched out along the corridor that led to the men’s room. There were men and boys in every shape, size, each sporting varying levels of discomfort. Most of them were complaining about how long it was taking to inch forward. A large guy in front of me was dictating text messages into his cell phone.

Loudly.

He was built like a linebacker and was wearing a Ravens hoodie that was about five sizes too small for his massive frame. He kept backing up while bellowing into his phone, so I had to keep yanking Alvin out of harm’s way.

“Tell that skanky bitch she’d better be gone when I get back to the office.” Pause. “Period.”

Maybe the guy didn’t realize how loud he was, and that there were kids all around us. I cleared my throat.

He turned around to glower at me.

“You got a problem?”

I shook my head. “No. But there are kids everyplace.”

“Who gives a shit?” He turned back around and resumed his colorful dictation. “Carla is a cunt.” Pause. “Exclamation point.” He grunted and held his phone closer to his mouth. “Not fucking can’t,” he corrected. “Cunt. C-U-N-T.”

Alvin looked up at me.

“What’s a cunt, Diz?”

I was not having this conversation. Particularly not when a wall of surliness loomed just in front of us. I bent down to whisper to him. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Apparently, some guy in line behind us had another idea. “Why don’t you watch your mouth, asshole?”

I straightened up just in time for Dick Butkus to wheel back around.

“Did you just call me an asshole?” he demanded. He stepped closer. His breath smelled like stale beer.

I stared up at him. “No. I don’t believe I called you anything,” I paused. “Ellipsis.”

He narrowed his already beady eyes. “Are you being a smartass?”

Before I could compliment him on his powers of discernment, Alvin stepped into the void.

“Hey mister,” Alvin tugged on the purple sleeve of his hoodie. “What’s a cunt?”

Butkus glared down at him, then back at me. “You let your kid talk like that?” He jerked a fat thumb toward Alvin.

“No,” I replied. “And he’s not my kid.”

Butkus wasn’t buying it. “I recognize you, now.” He continued to look me up and down. It made me feel itchy inside my clothes. “You’re that bossy dyke from TV.” He elbowed the guy standing beside him. “It’s that liberal news bitch. What’s her name?”

“Rachel Maddow,” an alto voice behind me supplied.

I felt a tingle run up my spine—and it wasn’t the good kind.

Clarissa.

I turned around to face her.

She was giving me that measured look of hers—the one that said, “What the hell have you done now?” I noticed that she had Simon and Teddy in tow—both wearing snappy new shades. Simon had Aviators. Teddy was sporting Wayfarers. They looked too cool for this corridor.

Alvin shifted his gaze to Clarissa. “What’s a cunt?”

I raised a hand to my forehead. This was going to end badly.

Clarissa was chewing the inside of her cheek.

Butkus wasn’t backing down, either. But I did notice he was having a hard time keeping his eyes off Clarissa.

She decided to defuse the situation by giving him her best, full-frontal Rita Hayworth.

“I’d like to apologize for the rudeness of my friend here. She isn’t used to dealing with little boys in distress.” She indicated Alvin, who now was holding onto his crotch with both hands. Clarissa gave Butkus a brilliant, just-between-us smile. “I’m sure you understand.”

Butkus backed up and spread out his beefy arms. “Make way, everybody. This little lady has an emergency.”

Clarissa beamed at him and took hold of Alvin’s hand.

“Thank you, most kindly.”

They pushed their way forward to the head of the line.

Butkus and I watched them go.

“Now that’s a nice piece of ass,” he said.

Although I wanted to punch his lights out, I was hard-pressed to disagree.

I dropped my gaze to Simon and Teddy, who looked like pygmy members of McGarrett’s Five-O Task Force.

“Did you guys pick out some sunglasses for Alvin?”

Teddy nodded and held up a bag.

“Lemme see.”

I took the bag and pulled out a pair of blinding white frames that contained lenses the size of dinner plates. “Coco Chanel?” I asked. “Seriously?”

Teddy shrugged.

Simon waved a hand. “He’s a pervert. They’ll go great with those Jimmy Choo’s.”

I couldn’t really argue with him.

The line to Santa’s Crystal Snow Palace snaked around the mall in an endless series of loops and doglegs. It was about a zillion degrees in that joint—and it was more crowded than a Mumbai commuter train.

I was hungry and my stomach kept growling.

“This is the fourth time we’ve passed that same Chick-fil-A,” I complained.

“Deal with it. We’re not giving up our place in line.”

I sighed and decided to try another approach. Bribery.

I leaned closer to Clarissa. “How about we blow this pop stand and just take the kids to…” I looked around for the nearest store that would be likely to have an outside entrance. “Cabela’s. We can buy them anything they want.”

“Good idea.” Clarissa raised a red eyebrow. “I’m sure the boys are running low on ammo.”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “Come on, Clar. We’re going to be stuck in this line for the rest of our natural lives.”

“Diz.” She glared at me unapologetically. “You’re whining more than any of the kids in this line. Suck it up and deal with it.”

It was true. I stubbed the toe of my shoe into the base of an obnoxious and overdone Styrofoam snowman that was staring down at me with a maniacal smile. It toppled over like a stack of Jenga blocks and took out an entire stand of cardboard spruce trees on its way down. Fake snow flew everywhere.

A kid behind us started screaming. “That man hurt Frosty!”

Oh shit.

Clarissa fixed me with a murderous gaze. “What did you do now?”

“She eighty-sixed the snowman,” Simon explained.

“Hey? Shrimp boat?” I bent toward Simon and made rapid slashing motions beneath my chin. “Not helping.”

The kid behind us was still screaming. Soon other tired, hungry and impatient kids joined in. It spread through the line like a wave. A chorus of yuletide rage drowned out the ambient Best of Manheim Steamroller tunes that had been playing for the last three hours.

I tried to placate the ringleader. She was still screaming and she had lungs like Ethel Merman on opening night.

“It’s okay,” I explained. “Frosty isn’t hurt. He’s just—lying down. He’s tired. Like we all are.”

Ethel wasn’t buying it. Neither was her mother.

“What’s the matter with you?” She hissed at me and picked up her yodeling spawn. “If you hate Christmas so much, then you shouldn’t be here spoiling it for everyone else.”

Hate Christmas? Me?

“Hey. Wait a second, lady,” I began.

Clarissa took hold of my arm. “Diz?”

I shook her off. I’d had just about enough of this.

“Look lady, I didn’t ask to be stuck in this sweltering line with five-hundred howling, midget refugees from hell.”

“Daaaaaaddddyyyyyy!” her kid was screaming. “A mean man is attacking mama!”

What? I wasn’t attacking anybody—certainly not this snotty-nosed kid who was wailing like a Banshee.

“Hold on a minute.” I reached out to try and placate the squalling youngster. Her mother yanked her away from me like I was one of the Lindbergh kidnappers.

“You keep your hands off my child!” She was screaming now, too. “Help! Security! This man is trying to steal my baby!”

“What? No. No! That isn’t what I’m—” It was pointless. “Hold on a minute….”

It was too late. I could see it all unraveling. Of course. It was like a bad reenactment of the worst moments of my life.

I heard the voice of my inner Elizabeth Bennet. Were the same fair prospect to arise at present as had flattered them a year ago, every thing, she was persuaded, would be hastening to the same vexatious conclusion.

I was toast, and I knew it. Maybe, with luck, I wouldn’t end up in jail this time.

I looked at Clarissa with trepidation.

Okay. Maybe some time in jail wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Over Clarissa’s red head, I could see bigger trouble headed my way. Bigger in the form of an angry linebacker, making a beeline for where we stood.

It was Butkus, all right. And he was mad as hell.

“Daaaaaaddddyyyyyy!” Little Ethel was still screaming and now flailing her sinewy arms toward my advancing fate.

“You!” he bellowed. “What the hell are you doing to my family, you pervert?”

“I’m not,” I began to explain. Waitadamnminute. Pervert? “Hold on a minute, mister.”

Butkus shoved me and sent me reeling as easily as if I had been another Styrofoam creation. I lost my footing and went sprawling into a field of Day-Glo candy canes.

Alvin, Simon and Theodore all gaped at me from behind their high-dollar shades.

“You didn’t stick the landing,” Simon said.

Clarissa scrambled over the makeshift fence and knelt beside me.

“Are you okay?”

I spat out a mouthful of fake snow.

“Do I look okay?”

“Come on,” she started to help me up. “Let’s get back in line.”

Back in line? Was she suicidal or just crazy?

“Are you suicidal or just crazy?” I asked.

“Neither. Come on.” She took hold of my forearms. “Stand up.”

“Yeah,” Butkus repeated. “Stand up and face me like a man.”

Clarissa had had just about enough of this manufactured drama. She pursed her lips and confronted Butkus. No more Rita Hayworth. This time, he was getting her best Barbara Stanwyck.

“She’s not a man. And it’s worth noting that you aren’t comporting yourself like much of one, either.”

It took Butkus a while to work his way through that one to reach the implied insult. But he managed.

“Fucking dykes. You’re fucking everyplace. You’re what’s wrong with this country.”

I saw Clarissa square her shoulders.

Uh oh. “Clar…no!”

I scrambled to my feet to try and stop her, but I was too late.

“You insufferable, cretinous lout. The only affronts to ‘traditional’ family values present here tonight are your unbridled expressions of ignorance, bigotry and bad fashion sense.” Clarissa took a step closer to him. “You and your unsavory ilk are the real crimes against nature.”

I took hold of her shoulders. They felt like rods of rebar. “Honey,” I began.

“Fucking queers. Fucking perverts.” Butkus pointed at the boys. “Why does the fucking government let you people adopt kids and drag them out in front of real families at Christmas?”

“Actually,” Simon lowered his Ray Bans and chimed in. “We’re not adopted—and we’re here under duress.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Shut up, Simon.”

Mrs. Butkus tsked. “You shouldn’t be allowed to talk to children like that.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Clarissa faced her. “Why don’t you and Cro Magnon man take your precious spawn and retreat to some other bastion of rarified air?”

Mrs. Butkus just blinked back at her. But Mr. Butkus was swelling with rage.

“Don’t think I won’t flatten your bitch wiseass just because you’re a woman.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Clarissa thrust out her chin. “You loud-mouthed blowhard.”

Shit. Dozens of people were now circling us—like turkey buzzards eyeing a fresh kill.

A couple of overweight mall security guards were making their way over from Chick-fil-A. I noticed that they were still carrying their super-sized drink cups.

“Clarissa?”

I could see Butkus sneer and draw back his arm—just like he was getting ready to heave a Hail Mary pass down the field. With all my might, I shoved Clarissa out of the way just as he let it fly.

It was a textbook right cross, and it nailed me square on the jaw. I collapsed like a house of cards.

Strangely, before everything went blank, I thought I heard Ethel Merman singing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”

“Sweetheart? Can you hear me? Come on, baby. Wake up.”

I came to, slowly. Everything around me was still pretty hazy. The only thing I was sure about was that my head was being cradled in a nest of warm cashmere, and the air around me smelled like red violets.

“What happened?” I croaked.

“She’s coming to,” a man’s voice said. “Hey, Demonte? She’s waking up.”

There were bright lights over me. I blinked my eyes to try and adjust them.

“Where are we?” I asked.

Clarissa stroked my hair. “In the mall. Remember?”

My face felt like it was on fire. I could barely move my jaw. I raised my hand to touch it and recoiled from the pain.

“Ow. That really hurts.”

“I know.” Clarissa took hold of my hand. “You’re lucky it’s not broken.”

“Can she sit up?” It was the man’s voice again.

“Can you try to sit up, sweetheart?”

Clarissa helped me roll up into a semi-erect position. The room was spinning less, and I could begin to make out the contours of gaudy Christmas decorations. Everything came flooding back in a rush.

“Shit. He slugged me, didn’t he?”

Clarissa nodded. “You’re going to have one hell of a bruise.”

I looked around. “Where is he?”

One of the security guards jerked a thumb toward a nondescript exit. “Back there. Cooling off in our office.”

“Where are the Blues Brothers?” I asked Clarissa.

“With Santa. He took pity on us when he found out about the fracas. He let them jump to the head of the line. They’re up there having chicken nuggets and hot chocolate with his elves.”

“Sheesh.” I cradled my head in both hands. “I feel like death takes a holiday.”

The larger of the two security guards cleared his throat. “We need to know if you intend to press charges.”

“Yeah,” the other one added. “Demonte and I hope you don’t, ma’am. Negative publicity like that would be bad for the mall—and we’d probably lose our Christmas bonuses.”

“Publicity?” I looked at Clarissa with confusion.

“They think you’ll put it on your show.” She smiled at me. “But I assured them that you wouldn’t do that. Right, Rachel?”

Oh. Yeah. Right. “No. I wouldn’t do that.”

Demonte and his colleague let out grateful breaths.

“That’s great, ma’am. Just great.”

“We really like your show, too.” Demonte asked. “Can we get you anything?”

I was about to ask for a couple of number one combos from Chick-fil-A, but for once, Clarissa beat me to the punch.

“I have a phone number for our Uber.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Would you mind giving him a call and asking him to pick us up at the nearest entrance?”

“Sure.” Demonte took the paper from her. He faced the other guard. “You wanna go get the kids for them?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ll meet you all at the exit back there,” he pointed behind them. “Near Cinnabon.”

“Come on, Rach.” Clarissa helped me stand up. “I think our work here is through. Let’s shake the dust from our feet and go home.”

It was close to eleven o’clock when we finally got home. Alvin and Teddy both fell asleep in their car seats—still wearing their sunglasses. Simon was alert as ever. The blue glow from his electronic Sudoku game illuminated the interior of the van. I rode most of the way home with my head pressed agains the cold window and watched the snow continue to fall. It was really piling up. Fortunately, most of the traffic had abated. There were only a few sets of tire tracks on the streets once we reached our neighborhood.

Clarissa parked in front of our house and shut off the engine.

Christa’s house was dark. I hope that meant she had the evil canine twins tucked snugly into bed with her. It was about time something went my way.

It was quiet when we climbed out of the van. Peaceful. The night sky looked pink. It was so still I thought I could hear the snow falling.

Then from somewhere on the night air, a plaintive sound swirled around us. The hypnotic noise grew louder as we approached the house.

Clarissa was carrying Alvin. She halted and tipped her head toward the sound.

“Is that what I think it is?”

I shifted Teddy higher in my arms and stopped to listen, too.

Oh, god.

“It’s Sadie,” Simon explained. “It means she has to pee.”

Clarissa and I exchanged glances.

I took the front steps two at a time and unlocked the door. Sadie came exploding out of the house like she’d been fired from a cannon. She dropped her back end to the ground and scooted around in crazed circles, leaving a dazzling sequence of bright yellow snow loops in her wake. When she finally finished and calmly trotted back up the steps, the front yard looked like it had been vandalized by a psychotic Spirograph.

I sighed. “I guess they’re home.”

There was a note taped to the front door. Clarissa pulled it off and opened it.

“Karl arrived early. They left for North Carolina tonight so they could get ahead of the winter storm.”

“Winter storm?” I repeated. “What winter storm?”

“The one that’s rolling up the coast from Georgia,” Simon clarified. “I’ve been watching it all night on Weather Underground. It’s due to the strong El Niño this year.”

Right. Check. Of course. How could it be otherwise?

Clarissa smiled at me. “Buck up, baby. Let’s make the best of it, okay?”

“Okay.” It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. And right then, all I wanted was to pack my aching jaw in ice and sleep for about nine years.

Once we were inside, Clarissa suggested we carry the still sleeping Alvin and Teddy straight upstairs. She got no argument from me. Together we undressed the boys and got them into their jammies. They protested when we took their sunglasses, however, and we had to promise them that they could have them back in the morning. Once they were tucked in, I faced Simon.

“You, too, bucko.”

Simon was having none of it. “I want to watch Colbert.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You didn’t do Teddy’s ear drops,” he pointed out.

“Nice try. Get into your jammies. Now.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Don’t blame me when his ear slime eats through the mattress.”

That caught Clarissa’s interest. “Diz?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go get ’em.” I grabbed Simon by the collar of his shirt. “Come on, Einstein. You’ve got a date with a toothbrush.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs.” Clarissa waved and left the guestroom.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I called out. “Warm up the Remy.”

“I wouldn’t advise that.” Simon was taking off his pants. “It’s risky to drink alcohol when you might have a concussion.”

I handed him his pajamas. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Sheila.”

His mom—of course. He’d probably picked it up from all the times she clobbered Marty.

“You’re just a font of information, you know that?”

He finished brushing his teeth and got into his pajamas.

“I’d like to get up at six.”

“Oh, yeah?” I replied. “I’d like to sleep until Tuesday. Wanna flip for it?”

He rolled his eyes.

We walked back into the bedroom. I held up the covers so he could climb into the big bed beside to his brothers.

“Do you want to help me get this stuff into Teddy’s ears?”

“Not really.”

He folded his Ray Bans and laid them on the nightstand.

I sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Dude?” I began. “It hasn’t been a great night for me. Your dad got sick at work and heaved his guts out all over the car. I took you and your brothers to see Santa Claus on the busiest night of the year, and I ended up getting my clock cleaned by a gorilla in a purple sweatshirt. There’s a blizzard brewing outside and it’s likely that the five of us are going to be stuck inside this house with two psychotic dogs until the spring thaw. So unless you want to end up with a starring role in a remake of The Donner Party, I suggest you stow the attitude and start acting a little more like a team player.”

He thought it over.

“I’ll hold his head and you put ’em in.”

Finally.

Teddy didn’t fight us. Much. Let’s just say that even in a sleep state, he kicked like a donkey and narrowly missed turning his brother into a soprano.

Soon I had them all settled down, and walked across the room to turn out the light.

“Sweet dreams, guys.”

All I got in response were three sets of soft snores.

I walked past our bedroom on my way downstairs and noticed that Sadie and Maris were on our bed, snuggled together on our pillows.

Great.

I was halfway to the stairs before it registered with me that Maris had been wearing a sleep mask. I didn’t even want to think about how that happened.

When I reached the living room, I noticed that the front door was standing open. And there was a huge tower of boxes piled up behind the sofa.

Clarissa came back inside and kicked the door closed behind her. Her hair was salted with snow and her arms were loaded with more boxes and a big, bulging bag of wrapping paper.

“What the hell is all of this?”

“What does it look like?” She set the boxes down on a table. “They’re presents. For the kids.”

Presents?

Oh, shit. Their presents. From Santa. Marty told me we’d have to wrap them all.

“What the hell did he do? Buy out Walmart?”

“I have no idea. But if we want to get all of this done before morning, we’d better get started.”

I sagged onto a chair arm. “I don’t have it in me, honey. Can’t we just go to bed?”

I didn’t bother to remind her that it was obvious we wouldn’t be getting married tonight—or any night in the near future.

Clarissa walked over to where I slouched in misery and knelt before me.

“I know this isn’t what we planned.” Her voice was soft and low. “But, sweetheart? As trying as this all is, it’s Christmas. They’re kids and they don’t have any choice in the matter. They can’t be with their parents, so it’s up to us to make the experience as special for them as possible.” She laid a soft hand on the side of my face—the side that wasn’t swollen to twice its normal size. “You and I will have the rest of our lives together. This is just one night.”

I folded like a cheap suit.

“One night?”

She nodded.

“You promise?”

She nodded again.

I smiled. I was starting to feel a little like a kid myself. I bent toward her.

“You really wanna be with me forever?”

She rolled her eyes. “Most of the time.”

I kissed her. It was wonderful. Just like kissing her always was.

We got a little more intent on the exercise. It was all going great except for the part that felt like someone was jabbing my face with a hot poker. Then it happened.

Tears stung my eyes. I pulled back reluctantly.

Clarissa thought I was crying. “Oh, honey. It’s okay.”

“No,” I explained. “I’m not upthet. My faith hurth.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your what hurts?”

“My faith.” I pointed at it.

“Diz?”

“Oh, thit.”

Clarissa giggled.

“Thop it.”

“What happened?”

I raised a hand to my face. “I bith my tongue.”

Clarissa gave up trying not to laugh. She threw back her red head and just about bayed herself right out of her sweater. Even though I tried hard to be annoyed, I couldn’t quite pull it off—not when so much unbridled magnificence was on display before me.

I gave her a sheepish smile and reached out to pull her closer.

“Wanna meth around?”

“Yes,” she said. She was still chuckling. “Absolutely. You bet. Right after we wrap all those presents.”

My shoulders sagged.

“Come on.” She gave me a playful nudge. “I’ll make us something to drink and you can turn on the Christmas tree and play that horrible music you love so much.”

Horrible music? My face lit up.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Vinnie Zimmerman, or whatever his name is. That abominable lounge lizard music.”

“Thummo,” I said.

“Pardon me?”

I sighed. “Hith name. Ith Thummo, not Thimmerman.”

She patted my knee. “Of course it is, sweetheart.”

She stood up and headed for the kitchen.

I sighed and decided I was better off simply to embrace my fate.

I plugged in the tree lights and got Vinnie spooled up. As soon as those retro Bossa Nova tones of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” started filling the room, I felt a lot better. The cool blue lights on the Christmas tree helped, too. They caused the dozens of tiny raven and cardinal ornaments to glow like they were internally illuminated.

It was Christmas, after all. And even though my face felt like it had gone ten rounds with an anvil, I was still here—in my own home. On Christmas Eve. With the love of my life.

I thought about Clarissa and the winding road we’d traveled to reach this place—this very place that was filled with so much peace and joy.

Hell. She was the love a thousand lifetimes.

I walked over to the towers of boxes and began to sort them by size. We’d just have to guess which gifts were for what kids. Simon’s were pretty easy to pick out. Anything that had a line of type designating that the product was for “adults and children over age eighteen” was plainly for him. I decided that Alvin would get everything that posed a choking hazard—even though I was tempted to cart them all upstairs and present them all to Sadie. The rest would go to Teddy by process of elimination.

It seemed to be working out all right. When I finished, I had three piles that were pretty equal in size.

Clarissa came back from the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with two large drinks and some nosh. I noted that her food choices were somewhat eclectic. I pointed at a bowl of something bland-looking and…runny.

“What ith that?”

“Cream of wheat.”

“Cream of…” I gave up trying to say it. “Why?”

She handed me a spoon. “Because I didn’t think you’d be able to manage Bavarian pretzels or crudités.”

Good thinking. As always.

I took the spoon from her and picked up the bowl. She’d even dusted the hot muck with brown sugar. I looked at her with cow eyes.

“I luff ’ou.”

“Eat,” she commanded. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“Id won be thath bad. I got ’em all sordeth ow.” I pointed at the three piles. “Thee?”

She nodded and fixed me with one of her best, smoldering Hollywood looks.

Lauren Bacall this time.

“I wasn’t talking about now. I was talking about later—after we finish wrapping the presents.”

It suddenly felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath my feet.

“So,” Clarissa had moved on. Katharine Hepburn was back in charge. She hauled Marty’s giant plastic bag full of wrapping paper over and pulled out three rolls. “Do you want to start with hermaphrodite reindeer, crack-addict Santas, or serial-killer elves?”

“I’ll thart with Alvinth.” I said. “Thith one.” I grabbed the roll that was festooned with fat, cartoon reindeer.

An hour later, we had them all finished and were just starting to arrange them beneath the Christmas tree when I head the sound of something that sounded like advancing thunder. It was coming from upstairs.

Uh oh.

Before I could react, Sadie came bounding down the stairs at warp six. She slid to a halt in front of the door seconds before we heard the telltale sound of feet stomping on the porch floor to knock snow from shoe tops. The doorbell rang.

Sadie began that earsplitting yodel of hers—that annoying, uniquely Siberian husky sound that was her breed’s psychotic substitute for barking.

“What the hell?” Clarissa climbed to her feet. “Sadie. You hush. Now.” She hurried over to the door. “Who is it?”

“Baltimore police,” a deep voice boomed. “Open the door, please, ma’am.”

Clarissa looked at me with amazement. I shrugged.

She opened the door wide enough to peer around the chain lock.

“May I see your IDs, please?”

They must’ve been legit, because Clarissa quickly closed the door and unlatched the lock.

She took hold of Sadie’s collar and pulled the door all they way open. Two of the largest men I’d ever seen filled up the opening. They did not look happy about being out in a blizzard on Christmas Eve. In fact, they didn’t look like they’d be happy any other time, either.

The larger of the two men was holding a folded sheet of paper.

“Are you Maryann Gillespie?” he asked.

“Maryann?” Clarissa sounded confused. “No.”

“Thath me.” I raised my hand like I was reporting for roll call in homeroom.

“You’re Maryann Gillespie?” he demanded.

I nodded.

He stepped forward and thrust the paper at me.

“I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“A what?” Clarissa was incredulous.

“An arrest warrant,” he explained.

I opened the paper in stunned silence and scanned its contents.

“Youth gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“What?” Clarissa snatched the paper out of my hands. She looked it over. “A man named Benny Brenowitz is charging you with assault and battery?” She glared at me. “Who the hell is Benny Brenowitz?”

“Butkuth.”

“Butkuth?” she repeated. Then her eyes widened with recognition. “You mean that loudmouthed lummox who slugged you at the mall?”

I nodded.

She faced the policemen. “That’s absurd. He’s the one who attacked her.”

“We’re not personally involved, ma’am. We’re just here to take Miss Gillespie downtown.”

“Downtown? You mean to jail? Tonight? As in right now?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right now.” He looked at his watch. “If we hurry, you can maybe get up in front of the judge before night court shuts down for the holiday. Otherwise?” He shook his head. “It’ll be Monday morning.”

Monday morning? That would mean spending four nights in the slammer. On Christmas. Impossible.

On the other hand, it would be a new personal best for me.

“Lemme geth my coat.”

Clarissa grabbed my arm. “Hold on a minute.” She faced the policeman. “Look officer,” she squinted at his nametag, “Officer Colodny. You can’t seriously be thinking about locking her up because of some ridiculous set of trumped-up charges?”

He stared back at her without speaking. The seconds ticked by.

“Clar?”

She whipped around to face me.

“Ith better if I juth go with ’em.”

“Maryann Gillespie, if you try to walk out of this house on Christmas Eve without me, you’re going to be sporting a shiner on top of a cracked jaw.”

I blinked. It was rare for Clarissa to make such public displays of attachment.

“Ith okay, honey,” I began. But Clarissa cut me off.

“You are not leaving me here alone with those hooligans.”

I looked down at Sadie who, for once, was standing there pretty calmly. It made sense. I mean, after all, it wasn’t my first rodeo. She’d seen me get arrested before.

“They’re noth thath bath, Clar.” I pointed down at Sadie. “Thee?”

Clarissa rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t talking about the dogs. I meant Marty’s kids.”

“Ma’am?” It was clear that Officer Colodny was growing exasperated. “We need to go. Now.”

“I goth a go, Clar.”

Clarissa sighed. “Where are you taking her?”

Officer Colodny handed her a card. “Circuit Court building. Bosley Avenue, Towson.”

I retrieved my coat and faced the officers. “Do you neeth tha cuff me?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” He actually smiled at me. “Are you planning to escape?”

“Nuh uh.”

He took hold of my elbow. “I think you’ll do just fine like this.”

“Wait a minute.” Clarissa grabbed his arm. “You are not taking her without me.”

Officer Colodny looked down at Clarissa’s hand. “Ma’am, you need to let go of my arm.”

I saw Clarissa’s lip twitch. She tightened her grip.

“Ma’am. I’m not kidding. You need to let go of my arm right now.”

Clarissa lifted her chin. “Suppose I don’t?”

“Clar….” I could see where this was headed.

But Officer Colodny wasn’t buying it. “Ma’am, I know what you’re doing and it isn’t going to work.”

“Really?” Clarissa raised an eyebrow and reached for a half empty glass of Remy Martin XO that sat on the console table behind the sofa. “Okay. How about this?” Before anyone could stop her, she upended the tumbler and poured the cognac on his head. The amber waves ran down his broad forehead at a rate of about seven dollars per ounce.

I closed my eyes.

Twenty minutes later, Clarissa, all three boys, and both dogs were crammed into the back seat of a police cruiser with me as we made our snowy way to Towson for the second time that night.

The only good thing I can say about getting busted on Christmas Eve is that you don’t have to cool your heels for very long. Everyone is pretty much invested in fast tracking the proceedings so they can get the hell outta Dodge before the night shift ends at one a.m. They even had Christmas carols playing in the booking area.

Because we had the kids—and the dogs—in tow, they let us wait in a kind of anteroom until our cases were called up for arraignment.

Cases. Jeez. I wondered, idly, if Clarissa and I would be permitted to have conjugal visits in Brockbridge?

The kids were still sleepy and had stretched out along some wooden benches. Amazingly, they all managed to grab their sunglasses on the way out of the house. It wasn’t until we got herded into this small room and they took off their coats to use as pillows that I noticed what Alvin was wearing.

I nudged Clarissa. “Is that one of your…you know?”

At least my tongue was working again.

“My what?” She took a closer look at Alvin. “Oh, my god. Where did he get that?”

“He sleepwalks,” Simon volunteered. “You’re lucky it wasn’t the full peignoir set.”

I raised a hand to my eyes.

This was a nightmare. One that just promised to go on and on.

“Go back to sleep, Simon.” Clarissa handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “There’s more where that came from.”

He looked dubious.

“I have a trust fund,” she clarified.

He took the money and rolled over onto his side, away from the light.

I shook my head.

“Will you relax?” Clarissa sounded amazingly calm, considering she’d just racked up her first arrest for assault. “I called Kirk and he’s on his way down.”

Kirk was the Wiley family attorney. In the last couple of years, I’d gotten to know him pretty well.

“What about Frank?” I asked her. She’d also called my brother, Father Frank, to come and retrieve the kids and the dogs and take them back to our house to wait on us.

“He said he’d be here as soon as the bingo game ended.”

Bingo? He was letting us sit in the joint on Christmas Eve until his bingo game was over?

I started at her in disbelief. “Seriously?”

She shrugged. “He said if he canceled an event every time you got arrested, the diocese would shut down his parish.”

“Sheesh. What about all those vows he took to help others in distress?”

“I don’t think those included a requirement for bailing his sister out of the joint more than twice in the same decade.”

“I don’t see why not,” I sulked.

“Look at the bright side.” She took my arm and rested her red head on my shoulder. “We’re together at Christmas. For once.”

I had to smile at that. It was true. We were together. Here, in this stuffy, wood-paneled room that smelled vaguely like a bus station. And we even had three kids and two dogs. The whole thing did exude a sort of Norman Rockwell feeling.

All except for that part about aggravated assault and attacking a police officer.

I kissed the top of her head.

Red violets. The scent of her hair filled up my world. Just like it always did.

“I love you, you know.”

“I know.” She squeezed my hand. “I love you, too.”

“I guess it’s probably Christmas by now.”

“I’d imagine so. It was nearly midnight when we got here.”

I yawned. “Do you want to try to sleep?”

Before she could answer, the door to our room creaked open.

“Gillespie and Wiley?” A stout woman with a battered clipboard waved her arm at us. “You’re up.”

We exchanged glances.

“Come on, move it.” The matron was in no mood to indulge us. “You two are the last cases tonight.”

Ten minutes later, the five of us were herded into a dimly lighted courtroom to greet our fate.

I blinked when I saw the man seated in the judge’s chair behind the bench. He had a long white beard and was wearing a bright red suit.

I nudged Clarissa. “Do you see what I see?”

She gave me an ironic look.

Two men were waving at us from one of the long tables at the front of the room.

Kirk and Frank. Thank god.

We walked forward to meet them.

“Hi ya, Diz.” Frank was wearing his collar. Nice touch. “I sure as heck hope you look better than the other guy.”

“Hi, Frank. Thanks for coming.” I shrugged. “Again.”

He laughed and leaned forward to kiss Clarissa on the cheek. “I thought you knew better than to follow in her footsteps?”

She smiled at him. “I’ve traveled worse roads.”

He nodded and punched me on the arm.

“Can you hang with the kids and the dogs until we get this sorted out?” I asked him.

“Sure.” He took the leashes from me. “Your buddy Kirk doesn’t think it’ll take very long. We’ll wait in the back row. And, Diz?”

I looked at him.

“You’re so taking us all to Waffle House when we get outta here.”

I handed him Maris’s sleep mask.

“What the blazes is this?” He held it up.

“Don’t ask.”

He shrugged and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He waved at the judge. “Nice job tonight. See you around, Tony.”

The judge waved back. “Later, Frankie.”

Frank winked at me and herded the dogs and the boys toward a bench at the back of the courtroom.

Clarissa was already deep in conversation with Kirk. He was showing her some paperwork and shaking his head.

“I don’t care what it costs,” I heard her whisper. “We are not spending Christmas in the joint. Fix it. Even if you have to pay that bastard off.”

Kirk turned pale. “Clarissa. Do not talk about a police officer that way.” He lowered his head closer to hers. “Not here.”

“What police officer? I was talking about that numbskull Brenowitz.”

“Hear ye, hear ye,” the bailiff bellowed. “All persons having business before the circuit court of the county of Baltimore are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now in session. The honorable Judge Anthony Krzyzewski is presiding.”

Kirk touched Clarissa’s elbow. “Here goes.”

The bailiff approached the bench and handed the judge a couple of file folders.

“Gillespie and Wylie, please approach the bench.”

We both looked at Kirk for direction and he urgently waved us forward.

We stood there in silence while the judge flipped through the pages in our folders. He cleared his throat once or twice.

I glanced nervously at Clarissa and was surprised to see her trying not to smile.

The judge looked down at us.

“Miss Wylie?” he said. “Lovely to see you again. I must say that I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“As do I, Your Honor.” Clarissa sounded almost contrite. “I never did get to properly thank you for taking such good care of the children during that fracas at the shopping mall.”

He actually chuckled. “Don’t worry about that. It made getting stuck with that graveyard shift worth the effort.” He shifted his gaze to me. “How’s your jaw,” he smiled, “Miss Maddow? That Brenowitz really nailed you.”

“Um.” I looked back and forth between Clarissa and the oddly dressed judge. “Am I missing something here?”

“Judge Krzyzewski was the Santa Claus at the mall,” she explained. “When you got socked by that—”

Kirk cleared his throat.

Clarissa took the hint. “Gentleman,” she corrected.

“Oh.” I looked at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he explained. “I’m going to take pity on you, Miss Gillespie, and dismiss these charges. Partly because it’s Christmas, and partly because Benny Brenowitz is a bad-tempered, obnoxious ass who persistently clutters my docket with his inane personal injury claims. You, on the other hand,” he shifted his fatherly gaze to Clarissa. “You assaulted a Baltimore city police officer. That offense I cannot overlook.”

Clarissa dropped her eyes. “I understand, Your Honor.”

“Is the arresting officer present in the courtroom?” he asked.

“Yes sir, I am,” a voice boomed from the back of the room.

“Come forward, please, Officer Colodny.”

The big policeman strode forward and stopped beside us in front of the bench.

“Is this the woman who,” he consulted his paperwork, “dumped a glass of liquor on your head?”

Officer Colodny nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”

The judge regarded Clarissa. “What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”

Clarissa faced the policeman. “I am sorry about that. Truly.” She looked up at the judge. “I have no excuse. No way to defend my actions. This entire night was never supposed to unfold the way it did.” She reached out and took hold of my hand. “We were supposed to be enjoying a quiet Christmas Eve—just the two of us. Alone. For once.” She lowered her voice. “We were going to get married tonight. We hadn’t told anyone but Father Frank, Diz’s brother. He was going to be our only witness. But Marty got sick and Diz had to take his kids. So we put our plans on hold. The boys hadn’t seen Santa yet, so we brought them to the mall, where we met you, and…well. You know the rest.”

Judge Krzyzewski stared at her in silence for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.

“What led you to assault this officer?”

“I just didn’t want to be away from Diz. Not tonight. And I knew there’d be no other way we’d all get to come along with her.”

“Yes.” He looked toward the back of his courtroom. “I noticed that you brought the entire menagerie.” He nodded. “I have a Siberian husky myself. Wonderful dogs.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Clarissa stomped on my foot.

“Officer Colodny?” The judge faced the policeman. “What would it require for you to accept this beleaguered woman’s sincere apology and withdraw your complaint?”

The policeman hesitated.

“And while you deliberate, may I remind you, Officer, that it is now,” the judge consulted his watch, “twenty minutes to one on Christmas morning.”

Officer Colodny sighed and turned to face Clarissa.

“That was some pretty tasty brandy,” he said.

Clarissa beamed at him. “You liked it?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a bottle to give the missus.”

“I think I can take care of that,” she said. “If we can find a liquor store that’s still open and hasn’t been robbed, I’ll buy you two.”

“Trust me, lady,” the policeman said. “One thing I know how to find is an open liquor store.”

“So. Are we quits?” the judge asked. “Everybody satisfied?”

Clarissa and Officer Colodny both nodded.

“Great.” The judge banged his gavel. “Cases dismissed. This court is now out of session. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

I stared up at him in amazement. “That’s it? We get to go home?”

He got to his feet and put on his red Santa hat. “Not quite. There’s one more small matter of business we need to attend to before the two of you can leave.”

He came down from the bench and walked over to stand in front of us.

“Hey, Frank?” he called out to my brother. “You want to bring those children up here?”

He smiled at me. “We need a few witnesses for this wedding.”

Wedding? I looked at Clarissa. She tightened her grip on my hand.

Frank and the boys had joined us.

“Alrighty, then.” Judge Krzyzewski cleared his throat. “Who gives this woman to be wed?”

As if on cue, Sadie cut loose with one of her textbook, ear splitting chirps. Clarissa and I exchanged startled glances.

The judge laughed.

“Works for me,” he said.

By the time we got home, there were only few hours remaining until dawn. The snow was still falling, but more slowly—in fat, fluffy flakes. The world around us looked—different. It was reborn. Like a village made of marzipan. Everyday things seemed richer, sweeter, full of innocence and alive with promise.

We did manage to find an all-night liquor store that hadn’t been robbed, and Clarissa gifted Officer Colodny with two big, shiny bottles of Remy Martin XO. He joined us for an early wedding breakfast at Waffle House—along with Frank and the kids. We bought a cheeseburger for Sadie, and a black bean burger for Maris, who was reputed to be vegan—her fondness for pork tenderloin, notwithstanding. The dogs were content to doze on the backseat of the cruiser, contentedly listening to police band radio.

Luckily for us, it was a busy night in Baltimore.

Once we got back to the house, we were all so exhausted that we decided not to fight the boys about pajamas, retainers, or eardrops. We just collapsed into our bed in one big, giant, happy heap with promises that when we woke up, we’d open presents, trudge through the snow to visit Marty, and eat junk food all day.

Falling asleep in those last hours of night with Clarissa’s head on my shoulder, and surrounded by the soft snores of three kids and two dogs, I thanked the lone, lucky star that had managed to guide me to this quiet place of peace and great joy. Somehow, without my knowledge, the bleakness of my lonely nevermore had morphed into evermore. Something simpler, wiser—filled with soft blue light and the sweet, enduring scent of red violets.

It was enough.